69 Hues of Deez Nuts 10: Yoshi's Booty World
by BusterManwomb
Summary: In dark, terrible world where you are reading this fanfiction, you have to sit and ask yourself "If I could live out my WILDEST fantasies, like deriving sexual pleasure from a dairy product or going to taco bell, would I?" Well,Dash those questions from your mind, reader! Because thanks to the greatest litertrary genius since John Milton, you can do all that and more... as a Yoshi!


69 hues of deez nuts 10: Yoshi's Booty World: A Choose Your Own Orgasm Adventure

About the Author:

Glowingly referred to by the ghost of Ahmed P. Alphabet (inventor of the english alphabet) as 'That… [human being]... who does… no… make me turn in my grave...', Buster Manwomb has all the renowns for their steamy diddlefictions, which are apparently worthy of raising the dead.

In their sordid effort to convince and Justin Trudeau to accept the used contraceptives of Murdoch Mysteries extras as an officiated currency (It's still more fucking stable than coin!) Buster Manwomb is often shot upon detection in every municipal library east of M̶o̶n̶t̶r̶e̶a̶l̶ W̶i̶n̶n̶i̶p̶e̶g̶ Vancouver.

To witness the fledgeling squirts of genius they manage to share online before the McDonald's employees insist they either don some pants or leave, follow Buster Manwomb on Twitter at BusterManwomb.

Intro:

You are Yoshi.

As a Yoshi, you have a sex life the same way that Neil Breen is a filmmaker: it is a bit of a stretch, but it's more entertaining to let you do your thing.

Thanks to Plenty of Fish, you scored a hot date with a tub of cottage cheese: the Neil Breen of dairy products.

Unbeknownst to you, the cottage cheese's account was actually made by Mario as a prank, but when he saw how happy and reaffirmed you had been at meeting someone, he felt like a bit of a dipshit, and had a tub of the curdled stuff made so you wouldn't be sad.

Unfortunately, the professor that Mario had commissioned to make the tub of cottage cheese had spilled a vial of CHEMICAL X into the mixture. He wasn't too worried: The only side effect seemed to be that the cottage cheese gained sentience, and somehow got a job and a respectable apartment on the Upper West Side.

How will this affect your date? I'm waiting for the shrooms to kick in as I write this, so let's fucking see!

**1** You and the tub of cottage cheese had a fantastic time going to the theatre to see Pacific Rim 3: Even More Collateral Damage, followed by supper at Olive Garden. The tub of cottage cheese lived nearby, and let you walk them to their building. Considering that it can be really fucking dangerous showing someone you barely know where to most easily stalk you, even if the first date went well, you take it as a flattering compliment. Outside its building, the tub of cottage cheese looks deep into your eyes.

"I had a really good time tonight, but I'm not really tired. Would you… like to come up for a cup of tea?"

The implications are clear. The tub of cottage cheese wants some o' that sweet, sweet, intergenital friction.

**Graciously accept – 2**

**Establish your boundaries – 3**

**Send a dick pic – 4**

**2** You accept the offer with a smile. As you follow them inside, you look into the security desk. The guard behind the window is the inflatable pilot from Airplane! in clownface. You see him rapidly clicking on a jar of mayonnaise on his computer and masturbating; the smell of plain yogurt and the sounds of peanut butter sandwiches being rapidly disassembled and reassembled emanate from beneath the desk. His eyes leak blood as they follow you. You feel whispers of madness creep into the side of your mind. It begins to feel very cold.

**Um… - 5 **

**Just keep moving. - 6 **

**3** While emphasizing that it is not through a lack of interest or enthusiasm, you explain that you never get to serious on a first date. The tub of cottage cheese is not disappointed or displeased, but is in fact completely and refreshingly understanding. They send you off with a hug and an appropriately dry peck on the lips. They promise to let you know when their days off will be next week, waving goodbye as the lobby door closes.

You walk down the street. Tonight has been decent so far.

**Go to Taco Bell/KFC - 7**

**You changed your mind. Go tear some cheeks, broh!- 8 **

**4 **You stare at the tub of cottage cheese just long enough for them to _start_ looking uncomfortable. Holding your expression, without blinking, you pull down the zipper of your jeans and let your green, veiny turkey baster of love out to feel the cold night air. Pulling out your phone, you take a picture.

Your gaze is uncompromising. You try to peer into the deepest precipices of the tub of cottage cheese's soul as you watch the smile fade from their face. They don't want to loo: A twitchy glare downwards proved that much, but they didn't want to look into your large, unblinking eyes, either. They look up, fixating on a moth orbiting a streetlight. You can tell they want to back up, but sheer shock is stopping them. This is completely out of their sphere of expectations. It's like their brain crashed.

Pulling out your phone, you snap a picture of your wife bleater. You don't even care that there's still a white dot of dried tissue on the tip, left over from when you masturbated yesterday. You import it to messenger and press send.

The tub of cottage cheese rushes for their phone, the flash of relief at the prospect of a distraction disintegrating when they realize you sent them (amongst other senders) the dick pic, along with the caption "want to meet pickle Rick, haha lol?"

They look up at you. You wiggle your eyebrows, nodding expectantly.

"Uh… I actually live in the building across the street."

The tub of cottage cheese started walking, their hearts sinking when you walk right beside them, constantly trying to hold their hand, eventually coercing them to hold it (_You're so suave! _You tell yourself). You see them texting somebody. A lot of the text is in all caps. They lower the brightness when you try to look.

"Alright! Here we are, at my home building!" The tub of cottage cheese said. "Let me just head up first and check if my roommate's home!"

Before you have time to follow, they rush to the sealed door. Someone waiting inside quickly pulls it open and shut behind them. You loudly check one or twelve times that the door won't open on its own if you try hard enough.

Minutes became hours. You wait, peering into the lobby windows occasionally. Every couple of days you wait outside, hoping to see them. You text and call them every few hours. At first it was because you were wondering where they were, but eventually it's because you discovered that all their social media profiles become invisible unless you create new profiles, and that they should make sure something isn't wrong with their phone or something.

They never answer, and the social media profiles always disappear again.

Ah, whatever. They was a bitch. This is why you're so lonely. Nice guys never get chances. Was the dick pic a bit too much? Maybe, but was it worth them ruining an entire date because of a mistake? No! They're just going to disappear without giving your behavior any constructive criticism. You will never get it right. You're just going to grow old and lonely, spending time on reddit blaming others for your behavior until you welcome the release of death in between benders, and your body goes unnoticed until a heat wave, when your corpse stinks up the whole neighborhood. Eat Arby's.

THE END

**5** The gaze of the juggalo balloon pilot is unavoidable. You slow down, and are about to ask the tub of cottage cheese about it when they cry out, telling you not to look.

It's too late. The pilot stands. His penis is an inky gaseous ooze that shoots from his peehole, surrounding you and teleporting you to the ethereal plane.

You see a ticket booth sitting next to a thirty foot tall vagina. Jigsaw is sitting at the desk, eating out a raw butterball turkey when he makes eye contact with you.

"I'll get back to you in a second, Babe." Jigsaw patted the turkey's breasts as set it behind the desk. He turns his gaze to you. "welcome, young traveller, to the realm beyond realms!

"Yoshi!" You yell, asking what the fuck is going on and why are you here.

"Our agent in your world has chosen you to be the vehicle for the experimentations of the Dark Lord Smegma!" Jigsaw explained. "Once every thousand hours, The Dark Lord Smegma yearns to encounter the thrusty joys of the mortal flesh. Make them cum and you're free to go! Fail to do so and you'll experience a pain worse than a sponge fleshlight!"

You don't see any easy way out besides satisfying the lovecraftian vajayjay towering before you. You consider your options.

**9 Put your dick in it**

**10 Get vehicular**

**11 Have your turn with the Turkey**

**6** You avoid the gaze of the juggalo pilot. You can feel its presence eating at you, daring you to turn around and look it in the eye.

"Just keep looking forward." The tub of cottage cheese insisted, tugging you by your sleeve. You feel the dark tendrils probing your mind disintegrate as the doors to the elevator you step into shut.

The tub of cottage cheese leans against the rear wall, facing the door. You lean back beside them, close enough to be flirtatious but respectable. The tub of cottage cheese moves closer in, touching your bare shoulder with theirs. They smile as your gaze meets theirs. You're alone in the elevator.

**12 Get tonguey, mah bro!**

**13 Grandma?!**

**7** You make your way down the block to the nearest dual Taco Bell/KFC location. You expect it not to be too busy. To your relief, you are mostly right. Three stoned teenagers are eating value tacos in a corner table. Barney Gumble from the Simpsons is passed out drunk, choking on the torrent of revolting limited-time flavour mountain dew leaking out of the soda fountain and onto his face. The cashier is a cow in human clothes, chewing it's cud and watching the world around it turn to shit with the nihilistic apathy of any other minimum wage employee in the food service industry. By the time you're finished looking around the room in narratively meticulous detail, you realize that one of the windows is screaming.

**Investigate the Window - 14**

**Stop Barney from choking - 15**

**Stop looking around like a chump and order some food - 16**

**8** You decide you go get you're li'l Yoshi wet. You take an uber to the red-light district, and head up the stairs where a sign said "sexy fun-times with Mary Poppins, 2000 dollars per act.

You walk into the room and immediately see Jacob two-two stuffing several dozen burlap sacks worth of vaseline-soaked turnips into Mary Poppins' ass while she screamed the famed short story 'Sonic's Ultimate Harem' at his testicles.

"Hey, buddy. Wait your turn." Stephen Hawking said menacingly. Apparently you had cut him in line.

Your libido near-irreperably deflated, you head back to the street, take an uber back home, and play Overwatch, masturbating to r/eggs in between matches.

You feel like the night could have gone better, but hey! At least Total Mayhem was the daily arcade mode, so you didn't have to play that shit heap mode Mystery Heroes that never gets fucking switched out because Blizzard and Jeff Kaplan seem to hate fun nearly as much as they hate Mercy mains and Zenyatta lore.

THE END

**9** Rolling up your sleeves, you tug down your zipper, freeing your penis. A brief fantasy of eating the tastiest donair you've ever had quickly makes the Mini Me in your pants swell into a full-on Dr Evil, complete with cat. With the confidence of a dinosaur whose penis screams 'CUM, MISTER BIGGLESWORTHI!' upon ejaculation, you strut up to the colossal vagina and stick it in.

Imagine trying to pleasure your partner's favoured genital receptacle with a single strand of dry spaghetti. You see that confused and unsatisfied face they have right now? If The Dark Lord Smegma had a face that could be perceived by beings doomed to the mortal shackles of linear time, that is the face they would have right now.

Displeased, The Dark Lord Smegma's vagina began to collapse inward, curling in towards its center like a whirlpool made of bacon fat and raspberry custard. You feel a pressure envelope you're being as you're sucked into the heart of the vagina, penis-first.

You find yourself in a realm beyond space and time, beyond the limits of the two or three dimensions in which you were so comfortable. The information is too much for you to bear; you can feel a deep existential dread seep into the core of your being, tearing you apart from within.

It does not last long, fortunately. Unfortunately, it's because there is no atmosphere. In three sixteenths of a second, you're doing a very convincing impression of that one guy in 007: License to Kill after they turned on the pressure chamber.

THE END

**10** Ah, fucksticles. Look at this shit. You were going to get balls deep in a tub of cottage cheese, and instead you're dealing with this shit! Man, you know what? Fuck this shit. You aren't fucking this floor-of-a-left-4-dead-level-after-playing-on-hard-mode looking motherfuckering vagina!

You turn around. It turns out there was a parking lot in the Realm beyond realms. The only vehicle there was the _Oscar Meyer Weinermobile_. You go up to it.

"Stop!" Jigsaw yelled, pulling his face up from the turkey's chest cavity. "That is my ride! Don't take it!"

"Yoshi?" You ask, wondering how in the creamy fuck a puppet would be in possession of a Weinermobile, and furthermore, how the FUCK is he going to stop him.

Jigsaw looked at you, disappointed but helpless. Slowly, sadly, he lowered his head back down into the turkey. Several green, oily tentacles pushed out the opening, caressing Jigsaw's head and plunging it deep into the Turkey's chest cavity, making Jigsaw do a bang on impression of Trump without his toupee, or Mr Bean in the holiday special. You turn the ignition and choke the engines to drown out the sounds Jigsaw abd the turkey are making, akin to a tupperware full of live squids getting fisted by another live squid with bagpipes instead of tentacles.

The engine sputters to life. You prepare to do to this lovecraftian meat cave what Anton Yelchin's car did to Anton Yelchin, and slam onto the gas.

It turns out that promotional vehicles meant to look like tubes of recycled meat lack what PC gamers would call 'respectable performance specs' and you barely reach 30 km an hour before you PLUNGE the tip of the Weinermobile into the resistant outer folds. The vagina seems to quiver in acknowledgement.

You press on the gas. The engine emits a tortured rattle as you wedge the weinermobile deeper into The Dark Lord Smegma's vagina, making it shudder with every forced inch.

You press harder on the gas. Running the windshield wipers offered a valuable if slight amount of lubricant, but the rough flesh of The Dark Lord Smegma's Axe Wound of Love still managed to peel the paint of the weinermobile. As you stomp on the gas and drive deeper within its folds, you begin to mournfully scream-sing 'Amazing Grace'. You don't know why, but unlike the rest of this situation, it just felt right.

The vagina tightens with moist sexual glee, heaving itself inward, threatening to crush the weinermobile around you, until the last minute when the flesh surges outward, giving you more room to reverse out.

You caused no damage, and decide to back out and drive in again. You only wedge yourself a bit deeper. Finally achieving a state of minute but valuable arousal, The Dark Lord Smegma's vagina began to sprout bony follicles that squirted a yellow-green syrup onto the car, making the windshield ever more necessary.

The vagina lurched, and sprouted quivering mouths within many of its sweating pores, calling you 'senpai-chan' and begging you to give it everything you got. Your eyes filled with vehicular sexuality, you back up farther than you ever have, choke the engine, and set it to third gear. SLAMMING the gas, you reach an absolutely _destructive_ fifty kilometers an hour by the time you make contact with the vagina. You slip deep into the vagina and hit something hard far after you have traveled beyond whatever illumination there was in the realm beyond realms.

You black out from the impact.

When you come to, you find the air thick and weak, like the gravy McDonalds uses in their disgusting poutine.

Your eyes had adjusted to the darkness. The windshield was compromised. The cabin was quickly filling with The Dark Lord Smegma's incorporeal fuck-syrup. It smelled of an otaku's wastebasket and tasted of orange juice and toothpaste. You have no idea what to do, so you wing it and decide to swim out of the weinermobile. Meters ahead, you see a structure that looks like a staircase made of shivering unicocktopi glazed in alfredo sauce. The entire vagina shudders as you climb it, crushing the weinermobile behind you, causing an explosion.

That explosion seemed to be the final straw. The vagina flooded with fuck syrup. Just as you're certain you're about to breathe your last, you feel yourself being shot forward.

Your senses are a miasma of stimulations and contradictions as you are transported through planes of existence beyond space, time, and human understanding, finally landing on the rug in the living room of your apartment.

The syrup got all over it. Damn it. That rug really tied the room together.

You reach out to the tub of cottage cheese on Plenty of Fish, explaining what happened and apologizing.

'_No worries! We can meet up and talk about it later.'_

You clean yourself, burn the rug, and collapse on the couch. All things considered, the day could have gone much worse.

THE END

**11** "Yoshi!" You scream, telling Jigsaw to fuck off as you throw him into the teethy folds of The Dark Lord Smegma's steaming vageener. You hear sounds akin to several cacti stuffed with cartilage being crushed and/or torn apart as Jigsaw tells you to 'choke on it'. You blow a kiss at him before his face disappears into the teethy, goopy chaos. Desperate for some sense of sensory distraction, you suck in a breath and stuff your head into the turkey.

Remember that Game Gear commercial where a guy playing with a Game Boy hits himself in the face with a squirrel carcass in order to play the game with some colour? That's the effect you see when you stick your head inside the turkey at first. Minutes pass as you watch the entrancing miasma coalesce into the coherent form of an owl with tentacles and the head of Whoopi Goldberg, but with eyes thrice the size.

"You have gone down on the Turkey of Dreams! You are, most clearly, so fucked in the head, your frontal lobe medically qualifies as a clitoris!" the creature announced, grape flavoured mountain dew fizzing from the corners of their mouths. "You are indeed worthy of breaking the fourth wall!"

The creature's tentacles shoot towards you, wrapping around your limbs and tugging you into the void.

You feel yourself falling into the darkness long enough that you're able to pull out your phone and earn a few upgrades in the fantastic mobile game 'Redungeon' before you speed towards a bright light that quickly grows and envelops you.

For the speed that you feel like you were falling, you did the ground remarkably softly. You shake off the dizziness and take in your surroundings.

You're in what appears to be a majestically furnished dumpster. Instead of a rug, the floor was furnished with clusters of fornicating rats wearing TWRP cosplay. A crucifix hanging on the wall nearest to you has jesus' face amateurishly resculpted to resemble Dwayne the Rock Johnson's. One entire wall was a billboard, with pieces of string linking various characters, settings, and sexual positions. Against the farthest wall was a collection of VHS tapes and laserdiscs, stacked on shelves made of boxes of post-Steven Page Barenaked Ladies CDs. A Commodore VIC-20 and and a dual laserdisc-vhs player were hooked up to a wood panel tv. Beside the shelves was a pile of condoms filled with cocaine cut with powdered milk and clorox.

"Nyeh heh hmeh..." You hear a voice behind you laugh gutturally.

"Jesus shitting fuckbiscuits!" You scream as you jump away, forgetting that your vocabulary is supposed to be limited to 'Yoshi'. Ah well, fuck it. If Pikachu can ignore that rule when it suits him, so can you.

At first you thought the final corner was occupied by a shriveled dumpster baby, discarded on the nine-month anniversary of the homecoming prom. Given your habit of adopting discarded babies, you're fully prepared to take it upon your back and contrive yet another "Yoshi's Island' retread when you look closer and realize that the organism was far from infantile. They resembled a statue of Slippy the Toad made from Silly Putty, or merhaps the Goblin from the Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey that rides the zipline in Goblin Town.

In other words, PAINFULLY handsome. They were wearing well-worn Viewtiful Joe jammies, laughing and masturbating to something they were reading on a Blackberry Playbook, and stuffing donair meat into their mouth from a steel bucket beside them.

"Y-yoshi?" You asked, wondering what the fuck is going on.

"Oh, meowdy." The thing said, smacking their lips. "Yeah, this ending was a non-starter. I thought you deserved the courtesy to hear it directly from me."

"Yoshi?" You ask.

"This turkey was going to lead you to Middle Earth. You would have had the options to… I don't know...Fuck Saruman with the Key of Orthanc… or something."

"Yoshi." You said, pointing out how aimless and contrived that sounded.

"That's what makes them clever!" The handsome thing said defensively. "Anyway, I can't. Some creamy-thighed lunatic introduced me to the lactate-inducing GLORY that is ShakespeareHemmingway!"

"Yoshi." You said, rolling your eyes.

"He put _Garfield_ in MASS EFFECT!" The sexy thing argued, passionately defensive. "How am I supposed to not pump my chubby to something so glisteningly enticing?" The charismatic stallion of a human smacked their lips as they sucked in air. "Look... nevermind." They throw a subway bag at you. "That's your favourite subway order. If you want to fuck Saruman that bad… I might do that later. I dunno."

The herculean and-might I add- explosively virile literary genius snapped their fingers, and you suddenly find yourself in your home. You open the bag and find that it actually does have your favourite subway order in it.

After putting in a Columbo DVD and explaining the shit that went down to the tub of cottage cheese over POF, you resign to the couch with your subway. This feels rushed and wrong, but you're eating subway and watching Columbo, so it's not too bad.

THE EN-

Wait a minute… You didn't put in 'Columbo'! You put in the hackneyed 1979 spinoff 'MRS Columbo'!

"YOSHIIIIIIIIIIIIIiiiiiiii!" You wail before suffering two strokes in every brain lobe.

THE END

**12 **Your tongue wobbles like a balloon animal filled with blood as you lean closer to the tub of cottage cheese. The tub of cottage cheese eagerly receives you. Seconds later, you feel the tub of curdled dairy suck your face as your tongue gets massaged by thousands of beady rivulets of curdled dairy.

The texture was akin to the inside of a beanbag chair soaked in canola oil. The taste was like cow. Your stubby little dinosaur arms caress the exterior of the tub of cottage cheese, squeezing the tub's milky smooth plastic lining.

Are you pitching a tent? Yes. Your diddle flute has swollen to the lofty heights of 'big'. And that was before the tub of cottage cheese laid a gentle cottage cheese hand atop your pantaloons and begun to shake it like they wanted it to do its best impression of Michael J Fox at a rave.

Oh, Lordy. That just turned your Trouser Dende into a Trouser Piccolo! You are so enamoured with the game of tonsil hockey your playing, that neither of you realize that the elevator had stopped at least six times on the way up to their floor.

Thankfully, as a rule, most people know not to share an elevator with a dinosaur getting a handjob from a tub of dairy, and let the elevator continue up.

At their floor, the tub of cottage cheese tugs their sexy lactic face away from yours, giggling at the lump of their cottage cheese body mass that stuck youse your chin as they unlock the door to their apartment.

Inside, they push you back onto the credenza and climb atop you, tugging at your pants.

By default, your penis looks like two dwarfs in a trenchcoat holding a parasol, however, the tub of cottage cheese got you all chunky down there, and in its maximum majesty, looked like FIVE gnomes in a trenchcoat holding a BEACH UMBRELLA! Wowie_ zowie_!

You writhe in the creamy erotic goodness of the tub of cottage cheese as they take themself upon you, engorging you in a sensation similar to when you emptied a strangers' eaves onto yourself, only with fewer stares and no calls to the police.

Life was good until the door slammed open.

"Gasp!" Cheddar gasp.

"Cheddar!" the tub of cottage cheese gasp, holding doilies over their perky-ass nipples to protect their modesty. "It wasn't me!"

"What did I say about performing sexual acts upon my shiny new credenza!" Cheddar von Roommate, Anger Management dropout and Olympic kickboxer yelled. "You! Green fucker! Prepare to die!"

"Yoshi?" You ask as the world seemed to melt around you.

"I am a witch, too!" Cheddar explained on the fly, as if the authors' shrooms were kicking in. " I avenge my credenza by damning you to the most terrible of all hells!"

**Offer to make amends by taking to Taco Bell - 24**

**Accept the punishment - Copy and Paste "69 Hues of Disney 2: Simba Bangs His Way Out of The Grid" into Word, Replace 'Simba' with 'You' and 'Tacquitos' with 'a tub of cottage cheese'.**

**13** You close your eyes and lean in closer. Your tongue is out of your mouth, wobbling and dangling like the southern dinkleberg of a particularly well endowed pornstar, post-creampie. You're ready to rev your engine with this smokin mass of curdled dairy. Like, if your sex life was The Big Lebowski, this was a Captain Beefheart song: Noticeable, percussive, and memorable.

"Yoshi, dear, are you all right?" Yoshi heard a voice.

It was the voice most people want to hear the least when they are aroused.

You open your eyes. "Nana Yoshi?!" You scream.

Sweet Black Fucking Sabbath, how did this happen? How did you get so borked in the brainpan that you confused an evening catching up with your grandma for a date with a sentient tub of cottage cheese? Then you remember the mushroom Mario gave you when you were getting nervous. "Don't-a worry! This'll a-make everything seem better."

That chubby little mother fucker! Thanks to him, you're leaning towards your very confused grandma with your drooly tongue hanging out of your open mouth, like a wind chime designed by HR Giger!

You feel dizzy. You try to balance yourself against the wall, accidentally pressing the 'emergency open' button and collapsing against the no-longer-present wall and into the elevator shaft.

You hold the jump button, wiggling your little legs as you try to recover from your fatal mistake, but accidentally activate your egg-throw rather than your mid-air thrust attack. (That is some BULLSHIT fucking controls, Smash Brothers!) and disappear into the darkness below.

Congratulations, you just hit on your grandma and then committed suicide in front of her. Her next call with your mom sure is gonna be fucked up.

THE END (note: the realities of this ending are exclusive to this ending)

**14** As you step to the window, you notice a figure outside is the source of the screaming. You do not move out of the way fast enough before Mary Poppins falls through the pane, (There is no window. Has this happened before?) and breaking her fall with your bones.

"Thanks, mate." Mary Poppins said, farting a parsnip onto you before walking up to the cashier. No one seems to notice your mangled pre-corpse.

So this is how you die. Ah well. It's not as bad as Mario kicking you into a pool of lava, the dick.

THE END

**If you chose 15 earlier, go to 17**

**15** You walk up to the lush. He smells like a bottle depot. Careful to avoid coming into contact with the noxious puddles of Mountain Dew, you push Barney Gumble just hard enough to make him fall on his side. He lays immobile for a few seconds as the unnaturally coloured fluid leaks out of his windpipe. Several fizzy coughs and burps later, Barney looks up at you.

"Wow, you saved me! Thanks, Green Walrus! *BUUUURP* I know just how to repay you! Take this!"

Barney offers you a spotted green mushroom. "A fat man with a moustache and a plunger dropped it. They aren't for me though. My body is a temple! *BUUUURP*" Barney said, opening a beer he apparently kept in his back pocket.

You see no reason not to take it, and put it in your pocket. Adequately rewarded for heroism, you consider your options again.

**Investigate the Window - 14**

**Stop looking around like a chump and order some food - 16**

**16 **Your wait for the line to deplete. Reaching the front, the cow cashier looks at you blankly.

**Order a beef chalupa with deluxe mexi-fries - 19**

**Order a Chicken quesadilla with cheese fries - 21**

**17** Your fading consciousness feels the green mushroom pulsate in your pocket. Seconds later, you feel whole again. Patting your pocket, you feel that the green mushroom is gone. What a lucky break!

**Confront Mary Poppins - 20**

**No hard feelings. Wait for Mary Poppins to get her order - 16**

**19 **The cow looks at you with a fury, not unlike Gearbox CEO Randy Pitchford if you told him that child porn isn't defensible because he thought it was a magic trick.

You have insulted the cow on three levels. You demanded that he serve you a dish made of his kin. You incorrectly ordered a Tacotime side dish. Most egregiously of all, you contributed to the normalization of Tacotime's heinous campaign to have tater-tots referred to as 'mexi-fries'. There's nothing that is Mexican, and even less that is 'fries' about it, you foolish bastard.

The cow's eyes flare with the fire of murderous intent. Lowering his head and stamping his hooves, he pulls up a shotgun and blows your whole body off.

THE END

**If you have a green mushroom - 22**

**20** "What the fuck, you frilly-skirted, consequence-dodging 'Playboy presents Nanny McPhee' ass mother fucker?" You Yoshi'd angrily. "You killed me and the most you can do is say 'sorry'?!"

"Look pal," Mary Poppins said, sounding more like one of the Peter Jackson orcs than a posh british lady. She turns around, totally unexpecting to see your glistening, adhesive tongue fly at her face at a concussive speed, smooshing around her face. She tried to struggle, but only managed to lose her hands and forearms to the stucky hell that is your tongue.

You tug Mary Popping into your mouth. You feel the very essence of her spirit wail as her body is dissolved and reshaped in your image.

You squat as you feel the pained flesh-mass writhing within you become imprisoned in a calcium shell, which you push out with a firm and well-practiced pressing of the diaphragm. Pressing the R button, you plan to throw the egg into the road, in the path of a passing truck. Unfortunately, Nintendo hasn't updated your egg-throwing controls since the snes days. Your aim is off, and you hit the ceiling. The egg ricochets off the ceiling, the floor, a light fixture, the cashier, and the ceiling again, until it finally lands in the deep fryer, burning and sinking into the thick, molasses-like oil that nobody in the building is paid enough to dare replacing. If eggs had hands, you imagine it would be making a thumbs up as it sank.

The cow had just put Mary Poppins' order onto the counter before being concussed by your egg. Considering that food waste is a serious issue contributing to the acceleration of artificial climate change, you consider it your civic duty to take the food and run home. You forgot the drink, butt fuck it. Fountain soda is always shit anyways.

Back in your apartment, you put on an episode of MASH, pour yourself a dry martini, and open the bag. Inside were cheese fries, and a strange creation that looked like a chicken sandwich with crunchwrap supremes instead of buns. The specialty marker on the wrapper called it a 'chicken crunchwich.' You bite into it and it's like you tasted something from the series finale of Food Wars. All your clothes fly off, your genitals feel like they just enjoyed a carnal interaction with the most tender yet firm vacuum cleaner and/or jackhammer in existence, giving you no less than fifteen simultaneous orgasms.

And that was just the first bite. Alas, you can handle no more. You collapse on your rug, content.

Your date went well, you went to taco bell and did to Mary Poppins what you're going to do to an entire nazi rally in '69 Hues of Deez Nutz 12: Ernest Goes to Whitecastle', and you bit into a sammich that somebody in 2010 would liken to oral sex from Chuck Norris. This is truly the best ending.

THE END.

Tune in next time for "69 Hues of Deez Nutz 11: Ferris Bueller's Gay Off"!

**21 **You order your chicken chalupa meal with cheese fries, and eat it in the restaurant while you browse twitter. Sure, the entire platform is a steaming dumpster fire run by nazi sympathizers, but thanks to the 'mute word' function and the generous application of blocklists, your feed consists almost entirely of artists you enjoy and support. You listen to a podcast on your way home, and fall asleep in your armchair after a few middling rounds of Titanfall 2 and a quick wank.

The night certainly could have gone much better and/or worse, but hey! You browsed Twitter and managed to not deepen your blanketing sense of hatred in all humanity, and that ain't nothing!

THE END

**22** You feel a deep pain as the mushroom disintegrates. Your goopy deposits of shredded flesh push out the shranels of lead as they tug themselves back together. You regain consciousness, and feel dizzy until the remaining slivers of confused flesh align themselves within you, making you feel alive again, and while not necessarily 'healthy', but at least as healthy as anybody whose likely to eat at KFC/Taco Bell.

The cow looks at you with absolute fear.

**Get revenge on the cow - 23**

**Apologize and order a Chicken quesadilla with cheese fries - 20**

**23** You Call the police. Luckily, you're in Canada, where gun violence is actually taken seriously. Two mounties crash through the windows into the KFC/Taco Bell atop their majestic maple-brown steeds, handcuff the cow, and drag it outside, sneaking a hard elbow into the side of the head of an unassuming aboriginal teen eating at a table within legally plausible 'it was an accident' distance from the door, eh!

You take some random sandwich from under the heat lamp and gnaw on it while you fill out a witness report. There isn't much precedent for mushroom-induced reversals of death in the federal courts, but it was still on tape, so in eight to twenty months when the court proceeding finally happens, you'll be getting some tasty damage payouts/hush money! Winning!

Still feels kinda anticlimactic, though.

THE END

**24** "Yoshi!" You yell, offering to make amends by taking Cheddar to Taco Bell.

"You know what, sure." Cheddar said, calming himself down and letting reality stabilize.

You lure Cheddar into the elevator and then eat him. You squeeze him into an egg, but you don't throw it, since killing him would directly raise the tub of cottage cheese's rent for at least the next month and you don't want to be a meanie. You leave the egg in the elevator and set it to the lowest floor before returning to the apartment.

The tub of cottage cheese, it turns out, had masturbated to completion while you were out, which was just as well since your boner was killed faster than a housepet in a SWAT raid. You're both decently tired, so you enjoy some decaf tea and watch the fantastic and killed-before-its-time masterpiece 'Tuca and Bertie' before crashing on the couch.

Seriously, what the fuck, Netflix?

THE END.


End file.
